just a walk in the woods
by long time brother
Summary: bellamy / clarke: Clarke sneaks out of camp late at night and Bellamy's a curious guy.


**just a walk in the woods**

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Clarke sneaks out of camp late at night and Bellamy's a curious guy.

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Night has fallen.

Clarke slips quickly out of the camp and drops herself down by the river, fingers lazily drifting into the calm waters. Settling herself against the weeping willow, she takes a breath, tugs off her bag and glances around before pulling out a crudely fashioned pencil and paper salvaged from the ship.

"What're you doing, princess?"

Surprised, Clarke jumps to her feet and draws out her knife from her belt, pushing at the intruder. In one deft movement, the knife is drawn up against Bellamy's throat and he rolls his eyes as she scowls at him, pulling away.

"What the hell, Bellamy?" Clarke bats at him irritably before pushing herself back to her comfortable spot against the hulking tree.

Seating himself down in front of the river, Bellamy ignores her and eyes Clarke. "Making battle plans?"

The ethereal moonlight dances off the river surface, lightly caressing the flowing blue waters, and the night air bursts to life; the dark blues, browns, greens of the forest glow with a delicate light. It's rather peaceful; the sounds of the cool river streaming quietly in a soothing lull as Clarke sets out her papers in front of her.

"I'm drawing," she replies quietly. "It's a peaceful thing, you know? Helps me relax."

Bellamy watches her curiously as Clarke sketches rapidly, her pencil moving deftly over the paper in an exhilarated rush and her breath catches. Over her face comes a change as she ceases to realise the world still exists and becomes tangled in the beauty of art. Somewhere in the background, he feels he can hear the lilting sounds of mesmerising violins, rising higher as Clarke, completely spellbound, skilfully draws her pencil against the page.

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It's a full fifteen minutes later when Clarke is finished, so caught up she didn't realise Bellamy has stayed with her and the night has gone cold. A cold breeze picks up, whispering secretively through the aged trees and she shivers involuntarily.

Realising she's back in the normal world, Bellamy shrugs off his jacket and settles it over her shoulders. "Had fun, princess?" he says flippantly, trying to brush off the affectionate gesture, as if he goes around giving his jackets to all freezing girls.

Clarke nods and replies, "Thanks," before slipping her bare arms through the sleeves, tightening Bellamy's jacket around herself. His woodsy, musky scent overwhelms her for a second so Bellamy takes advantage to snatch the drawing. "Hey!"

Bellamy chuckles as Clarke throws herself towards him, hands outstretched to seize her picture, face aflame with embarrassment. "This is the second time you've launched yourself on me, princess," he says. 'You want to watch yourself—I might get ideas."

He's with his back to the ground, Clarke literally on top of him, right arm dangling out of her grasp. Never more grateful of Clarke's height, Bellamy's laughter increases and the night around them seems to intensify with heat, crackling with flickering electricity.

"Ugh, you're such a condescending asshole," she scowls at him before straining to snatch the picture out of his hands. "Give it back! It's not—,"

And then it seems the moonlight ceases to shine on the river and glows on Clarke instead.

Bellamy stares—he kind of can't help himself.

Clarke's beautiful enough to rival Aphrodite herself; all pure beauty, eyes flashing with an exquisite fury, exotic and glorious. She's all he can see—her honey-gold hair falls gracefully to tickle him and the furious pout to her mouth is captivating—

"Ah-_ha_!" Clarke crows as she, taking full advantage of Bellamy's distraction, reaches forward and grasps the picture out of his fingers. She stops when Bellamy doesn't answer and her forehead creases with concern. "Uh, Bellamy?"

Bellamy swallows, pushing himself up and manages to keep a hold on Clarke's arm so she doesn't fall (and because, he kind of doesn't want to let go). "You shouldn't have been out here alone," he says, although a little hoarsely. "What if a Grounder had got you?"

"I don't know if it's escaped your notice, Mr Blake," Clarke bites, "but I'm pretty good with a knife. And a gun. And my fists."

Rolling his eyes, Bellamy lets out a breath and asks, "So what did you draw? Let me guess—fairies and pixies and—,"

"Shut up," Clarke glares at him but there's a twinkle in her eye as she glances over her picture once more.

"I won't laugh."

"Yes, you will."

"Fine, maybe I will."

Bellamy opens his mouth to wheedle her into showing him but Clarke takes a breath, says, "What the hell, right?" and her fingers slip on the picture as she turns it around. Bellamy catches his breath and he blinks, startled.

It's _mesmerising_.

She's pushed and yanked the entire forest into the page; long shadowy tree trunks surging through the paper, enveloped by flecks of dark grass and the gushing river seems to flow out of the page. Dark lines sketch out the pale moon, hanging high up in the sky, shining ethereal light on the leaves, and he can practically _feel_ the wildness tangled in with the page, straining to be let loose.

"Well?" Clarke says, biting into her bottom lip nervously. She'd love to say she doesn't give a crap about what Bellamy thinks but—

"It's—," Bellamy begins as a pink flush seeps into her cheeks. "I've seen better."

"Bellamy, you jerk!"

She curls her fist around a bunch of dead leaves and throws them at him as Bellamy ducks, laughing.

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He goes with her every night to the lake now. The two leaders disappear to grasp at a few moments of pure peace, revel in the wild and exquisite beauty that is Earth. It's their own guarded little secret; each drawing comfort, strength and hope from the other.

(Bellamy bugs her, protects her and sneaks glances at her when she's not looking.)

(Clarke draws him, argues with him and sneaks glances at him when he's not looking.)

.

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**fin**

**A/N:** I had fun writing this. I hope I managed the whole artist thing right - I mean, I have no talent with art; my stick men look like they're mortally wounded. I also hope - doing a lot of hoping, aren't I - that you guys enjoyed this!


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